


Any Reaction

by Chrism



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Gen, encounter with everyday life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2343173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrism/pseuds/Chrism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Now she noticed the way he moved, smooth and quiet even in boots, the set of his shoulders, could imagine the shine of blue across them and how the shield would look on his arm, or strapped to his back.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Reaction

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Fear Itself and the Winter Soldier series. No canon knowledge required. Many thanks to the wonderful [SakuraTsukikage](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SakuraTsukikage) for her beta skills and general support. <3

The clank of the bell on the door startled Helen awake before she even realized she'd fallen asleep behind the counter. From her seat on the tipsy wooden stool behind the register she could see a sleek black cruiser sitting at pump 3, laden with saddle bags and a large duffel strapped to the sissy bar. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and stretched, swearing under her breath when she caught a look at the time; only halfway through her shift. Nights were killing her, getting home just in time to get the kids on the bus in the morning, and she made a mental note to lean on Mike about moving her back to days. She rubbed firmly at the start of a crick in her neck, and leaned around a tall display of sunglasses for a glimpse of her customer.

The rider was doing a slow circuit of the store, browsing drinks and snacks in that slow way that had more to do with stretching tired legs and waking up than making a decision on a beverage. He wore jeans with chaps and a black leather jacket, with brown hair to his chin that hung messy and tangled from his helmet. Turning a corner brought him around to face Helen and her curious staring, and he gave her a polite but weary smile and an acknowledging nod before he went back to browsing.

Helen barely managed her answering nod and felt her jaw drop as soon as he'd turned away. Long hair, tired eyes, and a few days of unshaven beard lining his jaw didn't disguise him very well, in her opinion, she'd known that face since she was four years old, asking momma for the tenth time that day to read to her from her favorite Cap and Bucky picture book. Printed long after the war was over, it had featured real pictures of the duo; in some Bucky flashed the bright, mischievous smile of a boy living the greatest adventure imaginable, in others, he had the somber, brave face of a young man in the midst of war. She read that book often, now, when her own children begged “One more time, momma”.

She remembered the bittersweet elation the day they pulled the TV into her middle school classroom and told the children Captain America was alive, and taken in by the newly-formed Avengers. She'd watched the news every night for three weeks for word of a second miracle, but none came.

Helen watched him close as he picked out a bottle of water and a bag of beef jerky. She had a thought that maybe she should be second-guessing herself, the man was supposedly eight months dead, but the longer she watched the more sure she became it was really him. Now she noticed the way he moved, smooth and quiet even in boots, the set of his shoulders, could imagine the shine of blue across them and how the shield would look on his arm, or strapped to his back.

As he approached the counter she realized her hands were shaky and sweaty, her heart pounding, and knew her eyes had to be big as saucers. He set the items on the counter and shuffled a step back, his eyes casting down and to the side. She realized he was trying not to seem suspicious, or menacing, and that she probably looked terrified. She clutched her hands together to still them and took a deep breath, she wouldn't be working the night shift if she was too scared to talk to a biker at 3am.

“I'm so glad you're not dead,” she blurted, and winced. That wasn't the best way to approach a likely sensitive topic, but damned if she could think of anything else to say. His eyes widened a fraction and then his face stilled, like he was wearing a mask, and he gave her a puzzled look.

“Ma'am?” he said, eyes wide and innocent like he had no idea what she was talking about. It didn't faze her. “I'm happy to see you're okay,” she amended, pushing ahead before he could deny it again. “I saw, on the news, and,” her eyes flicked to his chest unbidden, and back up. He glanced away, his mouth set in a thin line. “And I wanted to say I was pulling for you, during the trial. I'm glad you're back,” she couldn't help smiling at him. Glad wasn't the half of it, but she didn't want to make this any more awkward than it already was.

“I'm sorry, miss, I think you must have me confused...” he tried again, but it didn't seem like his heart was in it, and he flushed pink. This close, he seemed so much younger than he'd looked in videos and pictures, lines of weariness shaded around his eyes but still, so young, now that she'd about caught him in years. She shook her head, and waved a dismissive hand at him, picking up the water and jerky to ring them up.

“I know, you're supposed to be dead and all, I'm not gonna run and tell anyone,” she assured him. He wasn't the first hero to fake his death, and wouldn't be the last. She hadn't dared hope it was one of those, losing him mere weeks after getting him back, it felt like. Which was silly, she knew, she didn't even know the man, but it had seemed endlessly unfair, for him most of all. But oh how she'd wanted it to be true, wanted him to pull through just one more time. She smiled at him again and gave him his total.

“I'm sorry I'm not who you're looking for, I hope you find him,” Bucky insisted, meeting her eyes quickly as he pulled out his wallet to pay.

“Oh I found exactly who I was looking for, Cap,” she replied with a stubborn grin. He looked down, and she thought she caught a bit of smile on his face, but he'd hidden it by the time he looked up. He laid at least a thousand dollars on the counter and turned for the door before she could get a word out. She stared after him. “What's this for?” she managed finally.

Bucky turned back toward her as he pushed the door open with his shoulder, one hand in his pocket. There was a short electronic whine from the monitor beside her that showed an outdoor view of the pumps and several shots inside the store. The screen went black.

“Your surveillance system,” he shrugged, his sudden grin bright and mischievous, and headed out into the night.

 


End file.
